


For Family

by PotterheadAvengerDemigod



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Newt is a Dork, Newt loves his creatures, and his creatures love him, i love his creatures too, just a tiny bit, very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:22:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotterheadAvengerDemigod/pseuds/PotterheadAvengerDemigod
Summary: The season sneaks up on Newt like most things not involving his creatures do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Sorry this is late haha I wrote it for a friend and I couldn't give it to her 'til now so I had to put off posting it. Just a cute oneshot (with a teenyyyy tiny bit of angst) for Newt and his creatures at Christmas!

The season sneaks up on Newt like most things not involving his creatures do.

He starts realising after he flicks on the radio and hears Christmas songs piped over the tinny portable in his case. He’s almost done with writing his book, refining the write up that he’s doing for Occamys, and it strikes him that it’s already December, and Christmas is coming.

He’s got no plans for the day itself, or the surrounding weeks, because the Scamander family has been broken for almost a decade now, ever since Mum passed and left only Theseus and Newt behind. And while he used to be close to Theseus when they were young, that had changed when they’d grown up.

So he’s completely free, because while other people are rushing about, shopping for presents and heading for family dinners, Newt’s got no family to head to dinner with.

So he spends the Christmas season writing his book, travelling to find out more about all the different beasts that he can, to help others understand them better, prevent them from being hunted out of fear, killed because wizards don’t understand them.

Maybe that’ll be his Christmas present to the magical world.

It’s early December when he gets his book written and sent in to Obscurus for publishing, and then he’s left with nothing to occupy him for the holiday season. But it’d be nice to do something for his creatures for Christmas, he thinks.

So he picks up his yarn and knitting needles and starts knitting.

Sweaters for the smaller creatures, he thinks, and maybe just something festive for the larger ones. A hat for the Erumpent, Nundu and Graphorns, maybe, just a small silly Christmas one that can be fitted over either a horn or one ear.

Maybe some scarves for the Swooping Evil and a ball for the Mooncalves -he can’t knit enough of any sort of clothing for the entire herd, but a ball for them to share wouldn’t be amiss.

For the Occamys, little scarves that won’t hinder their wings or prevent them from growing in size if they wanted.

A sweater for Dougal and Niff, and little vests for the Diricawls.

Definitely a little scarf for Pickett -he’d complain if he didn’t get anything. Pickett was a tad too small to knit anything for though, so maybe he’d just have to settle for giving him a length of colourful yarn.

Maybe it might seem like a lot of knitting in too short a time, but Newt’s been knitting since he was fifteen, and he’s rather gotten good at it, he likes to think, even if he’d been absolutely  _ horrible  _ when he’d first started out. Besides, knitting scarves was simple, and wouldn’t take that long. Sweaters and hats were tougher, but he was only going to make small ones, so that wouldn’t take as long either.

Newt spends the time waiting for the editor’s copy of his book to come back knitting, when he isn’t down in his case taking care of his creatures.

He wonders what Tina and Queenie are doing for Christmas, back in New York, and he wonders how Jacob’s getting along with his bakery, what type of Christmas specials the man is churning out. 

He wonders, and he continues knitting, and by the time Christmas rolls around, he has a box full of different sized scarves, hats and sweaters.

Newt heads down into his case on Christmas day, toting his box of various knitwork. He pauses just as he stops just outside his hut, staring at the the empty habitat that used to be Frank’s. There’s still evidence of his time there, in scratches on the rocks and the faintly lingering smell of ozone, and Newt misses him more than he’d care to admit.

But Frank’s home now, happy where he belongs, and Newt shouldn’t taint that happiness with his own downheartedness.

Besides, he has his other creatures to tend to now.

He visits the Bowtruckles first, laying down a full bowl of woodlice before gently draping short lengths of yarn around their necks.

“Merry Christmas,” he greets, grinning as Pickett jumps up and down his his shoulder, a juicy woodlouse in his spindly fingers, a single strand of yarn draped casually around his neck.

The Bowtruckles squeak back in reply, and even though Newt knows today’s just another day for them -Christmas has no meaning to them- he likes to think that they’re chirping well wishes in their own way as well.

The Niffler is next, and Newt has a handful of newly polished coins for him, and the knitted sweater he has is speckled with sequins.

“Come on, Niff,” Newt cajoles as he steps towards the Niffler’s nest. He raises the hand holding the pouch of coins and shakes it a little, the coins jingling. He opens the drawstring pouch, angling it such that the artificial sunlight shines and reflects off the metal, immediately drawing Niff out. Newt shakes his head at the predictability but grins anyway, handing over the coins when Niff paws impatiently at his sleeves and the pouch.

Newt pulls out the sequined sweater and watches the Niffler’s eyes widen, the sparkling bits reflecting in his eyes.

He helps Niff into the sweater and the Niffler nuzzles affectionately against him before grabbing the coins offered and shoving them into his pouch. Newt smiles and ruffles his fur.  “Merry Christmas.”

Niff purrs under Newt’s touch before nuzzling once more against Newt and then scampering back into his nest to build up his hoard with his newly acquired loot.

Newt stops by the Nundu next, heading into the her habitat, smiling as she nuzzles against him and, purr rumbling through her body and radiating to his. He places the bucket of food that he has for her and feeds it to her piece by piece before he cleans his hands off with and pulls out the festive beanie that just fits over one of the Nundu’s ears.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her furred head and wishes her a merry Christmas before heading over to the Diricawls and Fwooper.

He fits little vests across their bodies, careful to avoid tangling the knitwork with their feathers, and smiles when they chirp, joyful.

The Erumpent gets a small knitted hat much like the Nundu’s, and nice meal with all of her favourite foods.

The Mooncalves are next, and after he throws out handfuls of pellets and empties the feed bucket, he waits patiently for the mob to subside and finish their food before tossing the ball into their midst and watching them frolic.

Little by little, he goes around his entire case, covering all the habitats and gifting all his amazing creatures with their presents before he lifts the black drapes to the snow habitat, the dark, smoky form of the Obscurus -one of the two he’d failed to save- and takes a seat in the snow.

“Merry Christmas,” Newt says to the silence, watching the tendrils of darkness shift and roil in its protective bubble, unresponsive to his words.

“I’m not sure if you celebrate it -I don’t assume you do, but the sentiment’s still there. I wish I could have done  more for you, saved you, watched you grow up, alive and well, if without your magic. But it is as it is, and here you are, this last remnant of you, and I still love you as much as I did all those months ago. I had wanted to protect you, you know, but sometimes I fear I simply made things worse.”

He trails off, watching the snow fall, white flakes swirling to the ground. She’d always wanted to see snow, and now she could, if only in a purely symbolic way.

He waves his wand, and a cloud of butterflies burst forth, fluttering through the air before fizzling out in a shower of multicoloured sparks.

Newt stands slowly and brushes off his pants, a soft, melancholy smile spreading across his lips.

“Still,” he starts. “Whether you celebrate it or not, I hope you’re having a good Christmas, wherever you are now.”

He parts the drapes that keep this area secluded from the others and steps out, taking one last look back before letting the dark curtains fall.

He heads back to his hut then, settling back in to continue his notes about all the amazing magical creatures of the world when Dougal comes loping up to him, placing a silky-haired hand on his knee and pressing close.

“Hey, Dougal,” Newt murmurs as he combs his fingers through Dougal’s soft hair. “Didn’t want me to spend Christmas alone, did you?”

Dougal makes an inquisitive sound before laying his head on Newt’s thigh. From his vest pocket, Pickett comes clambering up to perch upon his head, tugging lightly at his hair. Newt reaches up with his other hand and lets Pickett grasp onto a finger before bringing the Bowtruckle to eye level, laughing when Pickett climbs into the palm of his hand and crosses his arms, pouting at Newt.

Very abruptly, Niff is scurrying through the entrance to his hut, scrambling into his lap and wriggling his way across Newt’s vest in an attempt to get at his pocket watch.

Newt watches as Niff’s claws scrabble at his vest pocket and come up with his pockef watch, scratched and old, but still with the sheen of well-worn brass, the glass face of the watch reflecting the light streaming in from the outside of Newt’s hut. Niff looks at the watch, entranced, but when he tries to pull it away, out of Newt’s pocket and into his own pouch, the watch doesn’t budge, staying firmly attached to Newt’s vest.

Newt grins as Niff pulls even harder, chuckling softly as he pries the Niffler’s paws from the metal. “Now, Niff. I’ve told you time and time again that you’re never getting at my watch. There’re charms keeping it where it is unless I need it, see?”

Newt isn’t ever sure whether any of his creatures ever understand him when he speaks to them, but sometimes, like now, when Niff draws back from his vest, curling up in his lap and pulling a coin from his pouch to play with instead, Newt has his suspicions.

A couple of his other creatures are making their way into his hut now, the Diricawl chicks popping into existence in his lap while their mother looks on, beak resting on his thigh.

His Occamys fly in one by one, and a couple coil up beside him, one resting on his head and another draping across his shoulders and nuzzling up against him. Newt smiles and strokes a knuckle against the Occamy’s feather head.

There’s a soft chorus of purrs, chirps and grunts, and Newt smiles, because he’d been prepared to spend Christmas alone after tending to his creatures, alone like the last few years, but here they are, crowded around him, making sure he’s happy.

And he is. Sure, he misses Frank, and the Goldsteins in New York, and Jacob, who won’t even remember him. He even misses Theseus, estranged as he is, but right now, right now he’s content.

Because Christmas is for family, isn’t it?

And these guys, these amazing, spectacular creatures who done so much for him, they  _ are  _ family.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> [My Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/_dreamdweller/)  
> Pop over and say hi!
> 
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> 


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